


i'll let my stories be whispered (when i'm gone)

by wildgrapevine



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, F/F, F/M, Friendship, M/M, Minor Violence, Survival
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-04-10 22:05:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4409507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildgrapevine/pseuds/wildgrapevine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They don’t see it, but they hear it, they feel it, and it makes them glad they didn’t have to see it. When Clarke catches up to them and doesn’t look any of them in the eye, they’re glad they didn’t have to do it either.</p><p>{{ the 100 zombie apocalypse au }}<br/>disclaimer: ships/friendships are in no particular order and will be added as they appear in the fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. so we plan for tomorrow as we live for today

**Author's Note:**

> And now I present to you something that was supposed to be a prompt from the jar oneshot, but instead turned into much more than that. Ships are yet to be decided, more characters will definitely be showing up. Feel free to buckle your seatbelts, because you're in for a heck of a ride. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now I present to you something that was supposed to be a prompt from the jar oneshot, but instead turned into much more than that. Ships are yet to be decided, more characters will definitely be showing up. Feel free to buckle your seatbelts, because you're in for a heck of a ride. Enjoy!

Her cries ring out in waves, over the grass, through the woods, across the universe. Raven’s sure every shambler within miles of them hear the heartbreaking sounds, but she doesn’t have the will to interrupt the girl, to shut her up. Thankfully, she doesn’t have to. Ever the leader, Clarke does it, pulling Octavia’s hunched-over form away from Bellamy’s body. The boy, once strong and courageous, now lays limp, blood pouring from his shoulder.

A bite.

They never saw it coming.

The shambler that bit him never saw Octavia’s sword coming either. Thick with emotion. Revenge. Spite. Anger. Love. It came too late though. By the time metal slashed through skull, Bellamy was bleeding out and Octavia could do nothing but mumble;

“ _You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you._ ”

Over and over until Clarke pulls her away, begging her to leave him as the sounds of dragging footsteps become louder. They never thought they’d have to ask that of her, for her to leave her brother behind, but they do. There’s a lot of things you don’t expect to do in this world and then you have to.

The blonde looks back to Raven for help, but Raven can’t and they know that. She fucked up her leg a few towns back when they were running from a herd. They barely managed to scrape up enough pieces of junk for her to fashion a brace. Since then, it’s been touch and go. She’s lucky she’s made it this far. As much as she wants to help Clarke with the weeping brunette, as much as she wants to brush dark hair away from tear-stained cheeks and whisper how much it’s going to be okay to the girl, she can’t.

So Murphy does.

He steps forward when Raven doesn’t move and wraps his arms around Octavia’s waist. He ignores the way she hits him, screams for him to let her go, and he swings her legs into his hold instead. He carries her away from her brother’s body, still limp and now pale, as the rest of the group follows suit.

Her loud protests stop when she hears the gunshot Clarke puts through Bellamy’s head.

They don’t see it, but they hear it, they feel it, and it makes them glad they didn’t have to see it. When Clarke catches up to them and doesn’t look any of them in the eye, they’re glad they didn’t have to do it either.

“We’re almost out of food.” A soft voice rumbles through the quiet of the forest. Their attention is now on Monty. They focus on the food shortage as though they didn’t have to put down one of their own just a few seconds ago. That’s how the world is now. The dead are gone. The living are hungry. It’s strange, how you really don’t know what’s going to happen when things go to shit until they actually do. There are people who spent their whole lives preparing for this. They were with one awhile back. Finn. Had a bunker and everything. Then he went batshit crazy; just couldn’t handle the world anymore. Raven secretly thinks it’s the funniest thing in the world, how people who never were prepared for this to happen survive the longest. Like some fucked up twist of fate.

“We’ll find some.” Clarke finally speaks up, voice harsh with unshed tears that would stay that way until late at night, when she thought no one would be listening. Truth was, they all would be. Kinda hard to sleep when you might possibly wake up on some dead fuck’s dinner table.

Murphy scoffs, rearranging Octavia, now crying silently to herself, in his arms. Ever the realist in their group, he always makes sure to remind them that the glass is half empty, never half full.

“Got something to say, Murphy?” Clarke’s voice is stronger now. She’s trying to pick a fight, Raven can tell (and doesn’t blame her). Bellamy may have only been related to Octavia by blood, but they had all become attached to the mop-haired motivational speaker. One day they would be damaged enough to learn not to get attached to anyone, but that day hasn’t come yet.

John Murphy was one of their most recent additions. Even recent meant a few weeks ago. Coming across a living, breathing, speaking person is rare now. He had been stuck on a roof of some apartment complex, ringing off shots like a damn dinner bell. Fucking idiot. They hadn’t even considered leaving him. They weren’t too far gone to just leave him there. So they sliced through the herd without hesitation and the rest is for the history books.

Except Bellamy had been the one documenting everything.

All they have are their memories now.

Turns out, Murphy doesn’t bite. Bellamy’s death affects him too. He just lets Clarke steam and continues carrying Octavia as her exhausted eyes droop closed every few seconds. It doesn’t even occur to him that she can walk now, that they are far enough away from her brother’s body for her to focus forward, instead of backward. It’s the least he can do for the man he had once looked up to. The most important thing to Bellamy was his sister. So now, she’s the most important thing to him.

The silence returns. Except, not really. Leaves and twigs crunch beneath their feet and moans sound in the far off distance. The silence is never really silent. It’s all about adjusting, though.

“We need to find a place to stay for the night. I think we left them pretty far behind, but I’m willing to bet they won’t be for long.” Raven nods her head to Clarke’s words. The walkie talkie, hooked tightly in her tool belt beside a blood-encrusted screwdriver and a hammer long since covered in brains, bumps against her leg with every step, reminding her of their goal.

“Jasper said he’s going to radio in at dusk. We have to get out of these woods if we want to hear anything other than the radio static we’ve been hearing for days. I can only fix the frequency so much, I’m not a rocket scientist.”

They hear a broken laugh and all eyes are suddenly on Octavia. “That’s only because the world ended before you graduated, Spacewalker.”

“That’s President Spacewalker to you, O,” Raven teases, nudging her elbow against the girl in Murphy’s arms. She wants to hear more from Octavia, wants to keep the girl from closing up because God knows she can’t do anything else to help, but all Octavia gives her is a small, appreciative smile before curling against Murphy’s dirty jacket and closing her eyes.


	2. a joke in the way that we rust

They find a place to set up camp a few hours later. At least, Raven thinks it’s been a few hours, judging by the way the sun has slid from its blinding halfway point to hiding behind the mountains in the distance. But she isn’t sure. She’s not a fucking meteorologist either.

After the place is cleared and the entrances are blocked, the group automatically heads into the kitchen. The only one not with them is Murphy, who immediately wandered toward the living room to lay a sleeping Octavia on a dusty couch. The rest are busy searching, digging, looting- a word none of them like to use, but a word all too true, nonetheless.

As if by habit, Monty turns the knob on the faucet. Nothing. None of them blame him for his hopefulness. They all wish they could wash the dirt and grime of the past few days off too.

“Not even a fucking Twinkie,” Raven swears, sifting through almost empty cupboards that have already been ransacked too many times to guess. With each empty can or box she reaches, she tosses them onto the floor behind her in frustration. Monty frowns and Clarke watches as he picks up each piece of trash and sets it in a pile off to the side.

Not even an apocalypse can take some morals from you.

Raven is oblivious to his actions and continues her search for something edible (or inedible, just _something_ would be great at this point). A few granola bars are all they have left and Bellamy was their hunter, which means until they meet up with the other half of their group, they are going to starve unless she can find something other than cardboard and metal. Her self-proclaimed mission is only interrupted when the walkie at her side crackles, then a voice comes through, barely understandable.

“Jasper!” Monty calls in a whisper, demanding the attention of the girl on the floor. Her makeshift metal brace creaks as she stands up with the help of Clarke.

The walkie is quickly disconnected from Raven’s belt and is in her hands. Her finger presses the button with urgency. “Jasper?” She repeats Monty and releases the button. At some point, all three of them came together in the middle of the room, leaning closely as though it would transport them to wherever their other friends are.

“ _It’s Harper_.”

The breath none of them knew they were holding come out in a collective sigh. They’re closer than Raven thought, but still far enough away for the frequency to suck. Still, they could hear their friends and for now, that’s all that matters.

Before Raven could form a response, Harper’s back on the walkie. “ _Jasper’s… gone. I’m so sorry_.”

It hits them like a punch from a fight they weren’t even aware they were in. Monty feels it the most. Jasper is- _was_ his best friend, his spirit brother. They aren’t- _weren’t_ related by blood, like Bellamy and Octavia, but they grew up together. Whatever memories Monty has, Jasper was always there. Now he’s… gone? How can that be?

“What do you mean _gone_?” Clarke has now grabbed the walkie from Raven’s stunned hands. The word had stuck out to her. Gone? Why not dead? Bit? Why ‘just gone’? Was it just Harper being polite and not knowing what to say, or was it something more?

“ _We don’t know. One minute he was right behind us and then… boom! It’s like he just disappeared. No blood, no body, no screams- nothing._ ” Miller’s voice spills through the speaker now. Even through the crackled words, Clarke was able to grasp the intensity of the moment the other group experienced. One dead. One missing. Maybe it had been a bad idea to split up.

“Miller, how’s everyone else?” The blonde questions. Raven’s attention is now back on the walkie. Monty’s is too. Jasper’s status is unknown, but he isn’t the only one they have to worry about. Their people are out there, which means they still have jobs to do.

“ _Good. They’re good. Alive. Harper’s freaking out and Echo got a nasty ass cut when we had to jump from that one fire escape, but Maya’s taking care of it._ ”

Clarke nods even though she knows the rest can’t see it and Raven’s metaphorical gears start turning. When they separated, their plan was to enter the town from different sides, scope out as many supplies as they could find, and meet somewhere in the middle. If they can hear them, that means the other group is close.

“Where the heck are you guys?” Raven takes charge of the walkie. Pleasantries over.

“ _Who knows. After Jasper, we just took off running. Found a town, hoped it was the right one, and hunkered down. It’s some kind of office building though, looks important._ ” Miller stops speaking and they hear a female voice before the line cuts off. “ _Echo said it might be the zoning office. If she’s right, there should be town schematics somewhere._ ”

“Okay. If it’s safe, stay there for the night. We can communicate, which means we’re close. Stick it out and we’ll radio in at sunrise. And Miller? Find those damn schematics if you can. They’ll help.” The mechanic voices her advice and then hands the walkie to Clarke, squeezes Monty’s shoulder once, and ducks into the living room. Clarke listens for confirmation before clipping the device to her own belt.

She turns to Monty and wraps her arms around him. They don’t usually get much time for comfort anymore, but when they do have a moment to spare, Clarke makes sure she takes advantage of it. “We’ll find him, Monty. I promise.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't plan on updating this soon, but thought it wouldn't hurt since I'm 5 and something chapters into it already and my birthday is tomorrow (which means I probably wouldn't be able to update then). Anyways! Hope you enjoy the new character additions, I wouldn't get too attached ;) Just kidding. (maybe). I know about as much as you.


	3. and when you wake up you will find you can run

Clarke’s reassurance lingers with Monty even when the sun dips out of sight and the room turns dark. Despite her kind words, Jasper’s face never leaves his mind, so he volunteers for first watch while the rest gather whatever blankets they can find and try to grab as much sleep as they are able to (which usually isn’t much anymore).

Outside, nothing but the usual night sounds can be heard. Any shamblers that were around earlier have now moved on to something more interesting.

It’s hard to stop himself from thinking the worst. Bellamy’s dead, Jasper’s missing, and the rest of their group is on the other side of Polis. Things managed to go so wrong in their little time apart. How is he supposed to fix this?

Monty’s eyes move over everyone, scanning the room even though it’s his millionth time doing so in the past minute. He takes being on watch seriously. From now on, he wasn’t going to let anything else go wrong.

There’s really only so much he can fix.

A slight movement pulls him out of his thoughts, hand shooting toward his gun in one, swift movement. He knows that’s one reflex that’s going to be hard to forget once everything gets better (which it will). Thankfully, his instinct isn’t to shoot and Octavia’s exhausted form wakes unscathed. Her gaze turns toward him and she blinks the sleep away. When everything that’s happened that day comes back to her, she silently wishes she could blink the sorrow away too. “I heard about Jasper,” Octavia’s dry voice croaks.  Letting go of the hold on his gun, Monty uncaps a water bottle and hands it to her. It’s only half full and one of their only two bottles left, but he knows she needs it more than any of them.

Instead of responding, Monty sits quietly as she drinks, his sad eyes observing her movement. There’s something soothing about watching the living live that wasn’t there before everything went crazy.

Since the boy doesn’t say anything, Octavia continues. In her nineteen years on this Earth, she’s never struggled for what to say, and she isn’t planning on starting now. “We won’t stop looking for him until we find him, don’t worry too much. We’ve lost enough.”

“You sound like Clarke,” Monty pointed out, a humorless laugh bubbling in his throat just loud enough for the youngest (and he guesses only) Blake to catch.

Octavia nods and hands the bottle back to him. She sits up against the couch and the blanket Murphy had covered her with pools around her waist. Her legs stay curled on the cushion and she keeps her movements soft when she notices Raven sleeping soundly just beneath her on the floor. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Clarke’s a badass. And right. We’re not going anywhere until we know for sure.”

“I hope you’re both right,”’ Monty laments as he screws the cap on the water bottle and slides it back into his worn pack, dirty from days spent on the run and torn from nights in the forest.

“I usually am,” Octavia confirms with a solemn nod.

And, of course, she’s right about that too.

He remembers when they found her. It was early on, back when it was just him and Clarke and Jasper. She was alone and, although her skills were impressive, she was quickly losing a fight with a dude twice her size. Living, breathing, and definitely not a shambler. Knowing what he had been planning to do to Octavia, Monty had no problem watching Clarke put a bullet between his eyes. They found Bellamy, who had left Octavia alone to find supplies and never returned, a few days later holed up in a convenient store surrounded by hungry rotting bodies. After that, their group grew rapidly, but meeting the brunette and watching how this world changed her will always remain prominent in his mind.

“You two could wake the dead.” Another voice breaks through the nighttime atmosphere, this one less pained than Octavia’s sounded. Raven. A short scoff turns into added words, the distaste for what’s going on in the world evident. “Oh, wait.”

It’s dark and the three of them can barely see anything, even with the light of the moon shining through the cracks in the curtains, but Monty and Octavia know Raven’s words are followed by an eye roll.

Typical Reyes.

“Sorry,” Octavia whispers, peering over the couch to glance at the girl below her. A shadowy gaze meets her own and she shrugs in apology. She knows Raven is only poking fun, or whatever you would call teasing after the end of the world, and there’s no need to apologize, but there’s something about Raven that makes her want to anyway. “How is your leg feeling?”

The inquiry usually comes from Clarke, who’s not only their leader, but also the closest thing they have to a doctor.

Raven imitates the slight shrug Octavia gave her earlier and attempts to roll over, but the bulky brace stops her. A frustrated sigh leaves her lips and she stays put. Her eyes, however, don’t return to the girl above her. Instead, she watches the ceiling with an unwavering look.

Octavia turns to Monty and gives him a gentle smile. “I’ve got watch, get some sleep.”

Although he’s not sure how much sleep he’ll actually be able to achieve, he thanks her and moves to Clarke’s side, setting up a blanket a few feet away. He lays down and turns away from the girls near the couch. His eyes close, but sleep doesn’t come easy. He’s lucky it comes at all. Eventually, his restlessness gives in and the images of a world without his best friend fades away. The worries stay, but the nightmares are saved for another night.

Nothing will be better tomorrow. It probably won’t be better the next day either. In fact, there’s a big possibility things will get worse, much worse.

But Monty’s not the type of guy who loses hope so easily.

And laying there, in the middle of the night, on a makeshift blanket sleeping bag on a floor in some stranger’s house, Monty decides that as long as his friends are there and they’re still alive, then he’s still going to have hope. This world isn’t going to take that from him.

It isn’t long after that realization that he falls asleep, lulled into another dreamless night by the sounds of Raven and Octavia whispering to each other.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't resist updating again, especially when I had this cute Monty and Octavia bonding waiting for you! I mean, as cute as you can get in an apocalypse.


	4. we sat and made a list of all the things that we had

Octavia watches Monty take his place beside Clarke, turning away from them as he attempts sleep, something not many of them can actually achieve. Her attention soon shifts back to Raven, blocking her view of the ceiling as she leans over the couch once again. “Come here,” She murmurs, patting the space beside her on the couch. “You have to get that thing off once in a while, y’know.”

“And not be able to run when we get swarmed- which we will, by the way. Yeah, right.”

Raven doesn’t waste any time in pointing out the obvious, but moves to the couch and sits opposite the girl anyway. Who is she to deny someone who’s just lost their brother what they want?

Gentle hands set to work unbuckling the few straps the mechanic had been able to work into the design. The brace takes some effort, having not been touched for weeks, but eventually it gives way and falls from the useless leg. Raven doesn’t feel a thing, but she knows there are harsh indents from the way the metal pushes against her each time they’re forced to run.

“Jesus, Reyes, just because you can’t feel anything doesn’t mean you’re invincible!”

Based on Octavia’s shocked whisper as her fingers roll up black jeans, Raven guesses it might be a little worse than just a few indents. In the darkness, though, with the moonlight casting her shadow over her lower half, all she sees is Octavia.

“How bad is it?” She tries to hide the disconcertment in her voice.

“Depends. I think Clarke’s going to have to check it out. You’ve got a ton of bruises, but no open wounds or anything. There wasn’t a better design you could’ve come up with?”

Her concern is met with a shrug in the darkness. “I worked with what I had.”

“We need to get you better things to work with, then,” Octavia counters, already rolling down Raven’s pant leg. Despite not being able to feel the touch of the other girl, the mechanic still finds herself missing it. As if she’s been reading her mind all along, Octavia sets the brace further to the side and scoots under Raven’s outstretched legs, allowing them to rest on her thighs. Her fingers go straight to the girl’s good leg and begin kneading in a way that Raven praises some mythological Gods for.

Octavia knows that because of her bum leg, Raven ends up putting all of her weight on the good one. She imagines it must ache pretty badly at this point.

A moan of appreciation bubbles in the mechanics throat and she catches it just in time to swallow it back down instead of letting it tumble from her lips. Octavia’s hands are gentle and life changing and somehow so different than Clarke’s. She expected fingers to be calloused from constant sword use, but they’re surprisingly soft.

“You’re amazing,” Raven can’t resist complimenting when Octavia finally finishes up and rolls her pant leg back down.

The girl smirks proudly and winks into the darkness. “I know I am.”

Raven doesn’t try to stifle the chuckle that falls from her smile and dances throughout the room.

After that, they cease making noise. They sit in the silence, Raven’s legs still resting over Octavia’s thighs, her tender hands idle on top of them. A noise sounds from the window to the left and their attention is now on that, both of them at the ready in case something’s about to go down. Their breathing ceases and they wait. Luckily for them, the hungry groans pass within seconds. Just one.

Octavia tries not to think about the way they left Bellamy out in the open just hours earlier.

As much as she tries not to, she does end up thinking about it and the thoughts must be evident on her face, because Raven’s hand falls over hers with a warm squeeze. She appreciates the silent touch. The last thing she wants is a pity party of people saying ‘I’m sorry’ or walking on eggshells around her. They would have time to mourn those lost after the war is won.

 If it’s ever won.

Could it even be considered a war if you are fighting against people who aren’t really people?

Could it even be considered winning if you lost everything you are in the process?

At some point that night, in the midst of soundless exchanges, Raven falls asleep relaxed from Octavia’s earlier administrations and with fingers now tangled with another’s. Octavia doesn’t budge, doesn’t question it.

Clarke wakes up a few hours later when the stars are still bright but the clocks tick rhythmically into the early morning, bleary and only half-aware of her surroundings. Octavia ignores the way tired blue eyes land on entwined fingers and surprising closeness. An eyebrow that seems too perfect in the middle of an apocalypse raises and the brunette shrugs. It’s not a big deal. It’s not something she wants to question. It’s not something she minds either.

For Clarke, her mom’s status is still unknown. For Monty, Jasper is out there somewhere.

Raven doesn’t have anyone left.

After yesterday, Octavia doesn’t have anyone left either.

So for them, it’s different. Up until now, she didn’t completely understand how Raven felt, how alone she felt. Now she does and it causes her to want to make sure the girl never feels like that again.

But she’s not going to try and explain that to Clarke. Instead, Octavia nods toward the girl and waits for a nod back before relaxing a bit more into the couch, letting Clarke take watch for the last few hours of night before the sun rises and they’re stepping back into survival mode once again.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the long-awaited Octaven cuteness (I've been impatiently waiting to post this for /forever/)! I'm not only a chapter and a half ahead, so updates will be just a tiny bit slower, but I do have a clear plan for the next few chapters; I hope you like action, new characters, and more apocalyptic nightmares. Until then, however, I look forward to hearing from you guys!


	5. if tomorrow wasn't such a long time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to update until I had two more chapters ahead of this one, but I really enjoy hearing what you guys have to say, so I thought I'd give you a little something, something. Have fun!

 

Clarke quickly explains the plan to them, words confident as her fingers graze the map spread across the coffee table (Monty found it in some cluttered desk drawer and half of it is marked with crayon and painted fingerprints from a child, but it’s the best they have so they ignore the flaws).

Octavia thinks her voice could sink ships or command men to go to war and die for her. There’s no doubt the blonde always fell into leadership positions easily in other lives.

“So Miller and Echo are supposed to meet us here?” Monty pipes up as Clarke’s tangent comes to an end, pointing to a smudged spot on the map where a small caricature of a grocery store had been drawn in. They had passed it on the way into town yesterday and according to what Miller told them earlier, they had seen the same building on their way in. Both groups know where it is, which means it’s the best place for an easy in-and-out meet up.

“’Right,” Clarke continued with a nod, adding in a line from the street they’re on leading to the store and a different colored line signifying the other group’s location and path to the grocery store. “Maya said they’re out of medical supplies and basically at the same food level as us. This will give us a good chance to scout out anything we can find. Octavia, Murphy, and I will meet up with Miller and Echo and bring them and any supplies back here. Then we go and get Maya and Harper and figure out how to start looking for Jasper.”

Raven listens intently to the plan and swallows the thick feeling of not wanting Octavia to walk out of this building.

She’s a fighter. A warrior. She’s strong and that’s why Clarke picked her. She’ll be fine.

Raven makes a mental note to bribe Murphy to look after her before they leave on the mission. For her peace of mind, if nothing else. It’s bad enough that she’ll be stuck between these four walls while everyone is out kicking butt, but this needs to be a quick run and she’s not ignorant enough to think she’d be able to keep up.

There are some things the end of the world can’t take from you, like Monty’s morals, and then there are some that the end of the world is all too pleased to rip out of your grasp.

Like Bellamy once advised them during a cold, dark night by a makeshift campfire and a brick wall barely hiding them from the outside world; “ _If you’re going through hell_ , _keep going. And that’s what we’re going to do- keep going. This world can only take from us what we let it take. We’re going to run, fight, and keep going until we come out on the other side._ ”

She can’t help but wonder if that doesn’t include her now.

How are you supposed to keep going when you can’t even keep up?

“Raven, you okay?” A voice grabs her attention and startled eyes dart to the brunette who’s now standing in front of her. Hair pulled back in a way it wasn’t yesterday, clothes zippered, sword sheathed on her back, bag hanging from her shoulder, ready to fight another battle in this never-ending war.

“Yeah, of course,” Raven nods quickly; a little too quickly, because Octavia then eyes her suspiciously. She brushes it off and limps around the girl to get at the walkie and guns on the table. Her part of the mission is to make sure things were working so the job would get done smoothly. If she fails, they all fail. “I am.”

Octavia lets out a sigh and decides to leave the girl to her denial. “Okay.”

Then she walks out of the room and even though the weight of what could happen to _any_ of them at any time still lays heavy on her shoulders, Raven feels like she can breathe a little easier for the time being.

Working walkie; check.

Clean guns; check.

Extra ammo; check.

The sound of footsteps break the rhythm in her mental checklist and Raven whips around to spot the intruder, alarmed for the second time in just a few minutes. She really needs to get that under control. Or people just need to stop interrupting her thoughts.

Clarke looks as unaware and worried as Octavia did just moments ago.

Raven handles the answer before the blonde’s mouth can even open to question her actions. “I’m fine. Let’s talk mechanics.”

Then, she breaks into an explanation about how far the frequency will go with the walkies they have and how many bullets they have for each gun and ignores the way Clarke looks like she wants to argue how ‘fine’ the mechanic is actually doing.

So Raven isn’t fine. And she might be a little scared; scared that she isn’t going to be able to ‘keep up’ anymore, scared that Octavia won’t make it back, scared that none of them will make it back, scared that in the end, she’ll lose her shit just like Finn did. But she’s never going to admit that to anyone. Hiding when she’s scared isn’t anything new to her, in fact, it was so old to her it felt like just another skin beneath the layers of grime and dirt she’s acquired in the past few months.

She spent years before the apocalypse was ever a thing being scared. Growing up with a mother like hers (an alcoholic and addict who cared for nothing more than finding her next high and giving anything to be able to do so, leaving her daughter to fend for herself daily) would make anyone feel that way.

Maybe she’s more prepared for this world than she thought.

 

 


	6. lead me on my way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: most of these chapters don't get beta'd, so any little mistakes are solely mine and usually I catch them within the first few rereads, but likewise, you have my apologies!

The sun beams soft rays of light over the concrete in front of them. In the distance, birds twitter as though the world hadn’t ceased to exist around them a long time ago. Morning dew rests over the grass they are crouched in and fog hangs in the air carelessly. For only a moment, Clarke pretends like it’s just another morning. Like Octavia is just another friend and Murphy is just another annoying tag-along and this is just another day where they don’t have to fight for their lives.

Then, a hungry groan fills the air, a shambler trips around the corner of the house they’re crouching by, and the pretending is over.

Murphy is up and stabbing his pocket knife through the soft skull without hesitation. Dark blood trickles down his wrist, which he wipes against his jeans in a movement he’s done a million times before. They wait for the sound of more, and when none come, they go back to their previous position.

The grocery store they’re supposed to meet Miller and Echo at is across from them. From this spot, they will be able to see when the two arrive while staying out of sight from any unwanted company. Their walkie gives them nothing but static. The last time they heard from the other half of their group was before they left the house they were staying in.

The plan had been clear though. Meet at the grocery store. Stock up on supplies. Get out.

But so far, their plan isn’t proving very successful. They’ve been observing the store for over a half an hour. No one in and no one out.

Miller and Echo are nowhere in sight.

“Where in the heck are they,” Clarke whispers, and although her voice is harsh, Octavia knows she’s concerned about them meeting the same fate as Jasper had, or worse, as Bellamy had.

A shiver runs down her spine and she breathes in, willing her pieces to stay together.

She clutches her sword tighter and squints against the early morning sun to get a better look at the large windows of the grocery store. The quick flash of black isn’t missed. Octavia is used to seeing the green of leaves, the brown of forests, and mostly, the red of shambler blood, but black is only ever something they see at night.

Never in the middle of the morning.

“ _Clarke_! Someone’s in there,” Octavia mutters urgently, her eyes never leaving the building.

She feels Clarke leaning closer, as though that would somehow give her a better vantage point. It doesn’t, obviously, and the blonde is soon sitting back once again. “I’m going in.”

Octavia and Murphy waste no time in looking at her like she just jumped off of a lifeboat in the middle of a freezing ocean and decided to swim to shore. “Are you fucking _crazy_? We’ve been sitting here all damn morning and haven’t seen anyone go in or out. Whoever’s in there isn’t Miller or Echo. Who even knows where they are. We should just cut our losses and split.”

The sword-wielding brunette nods along with Murphy’s words. Although his presentation could use some work, he had the right idea.

“Look, I think for once he might be right. We can’t risk it.”

Clarke wants to listen to Octavia, she actually _wants_ to give Murphy the benefit of the doubt. She knows that, reasonably, Miller and Echo aren’t in that store already. Murphy was right, they’ve been here all morning and haven’t seen a sign of them. Whoever is in there isn’t them, but it isn’t nobody either. It’s _someone_ \- and maybe that someone has answers to where their missing friend is. This is an opportunity Clarke isn’t willing to let slip by.

With a quick heft of her backpack onto her shoulders and a tight grasp of her gun, she takes off across the road and into the parking lot full of abandoned cars, leaving Octavia and Murphy to groan and follow her without hesitation.

They weave in and out of vehicles parked with reckless abandon. Toys and garbage and items no one needed at the end of the world litter the ground, dropped hastily and ransacked thoroughly by scavengers and those trying to escape. Blood spatters cover the ground and occasionally lead from the insides of a car. Clarke notices a blood-stained carseat as they pass by a dusty green Hyundai and swallows down the acid she feels bubbling in her throat.

This isn’t the first time she’s seen something like that.

And it probably won’t be the last.

The blonde gets to a spot between two trucks that looks relatively safe and stops, kneeling beside one as she waits for Octavia and Murphy to catch up.

“ _Jesus_ , Griffin, wanna give a girl some warning before you jump the gun,” Octavia huffs as she ducks beside Clarke.

 A shrug and a few words are all she gets in return. “They could know where Jasper is. Do you really want to lose that chance?”

It was enough to shut the girl up, which is what Clarke had been hoping for.

“Okay, so we go in there. Then what?”

Clarke doesn’t turn to Murphy to respond. Instead, she stares intently at the store windows. The figure inside is gone from their view, but she knows they’re still in there. “You and Octavia go around back. I’ll go through the side. If things go south, you ambush.”

When she can still feel their questioning gaze on her, she continues, “That’s it. That’s the plan.”

“That’s the-,” Octavia begins to reason, but stops herself. There’s no use arguing against what the girl had already decided on. There were a million things that could go wrong with this plan; she’s just hoping none do. “Fine. Let’s go, Murphy.”

They barely get a response from Clarke as they stoop low beside the cars, working their way to the back entrance. Clarke Griffin is a great leader, they have never doubted her instincts and probably never will, but one has to wonder just how much losing Bellamy and Jasper has affected her.

 

 


	7. serpents in the basement

Clarke let’s out a breath she never realized she was holding when Octavia and Murphy leave her side and head for the back of the building. She watches them go, covering their backs until they can’t be seen anymore.

Her own body sways a little as she starts, moving quickly and quietly across the parking lot. Despite her near silent movements, a shambler still picks up on her scent. Just one, which she easily takes out with a knife. The hope that more didn’t follow him stays with her as she continues her trek.

The door is filthy, coated in a layer (or more) of grime that built up over the months. The remains of a rusty chain hangs around the door handle.

At one point, it had been locked up. Just like most of the buildings they come across; once locked up, now cut open to the public, the still living looking for things to keep them living for another day.

The windows on this store are still boarded up and none are broken, which means the chance of there being shamblers in there are slim, especially when there’s an undead person in there. Clarke doubts anyone would step foot, let alone stay put for hours, in a building filled with shamblers attempting to eat the flesh from their bones.

Walking through the front door simultaneously feels like the bravest and dumbest thing Clarke Griffin has ever done.

Dirt and stones scrape beneath her boots, the door creaks open and soon, and her steps come in contact with tiles littered with remnants of a grocery store. Shelves are cleared carelessly in front of her, some even tipped against the walls, as if knocked over in haste.

The flash of black they saw earlier is nowhere to be found.

She carefully makes her way through the aisles, gun in her hand at the ready, eyes intensely searching in front of her, and ears listening for anything her other senses may miss.

Clarke isn’t a tracker by far, that had been Finn’s expertise before he lost his mind. Out of the talents she has; leading, shooting a gun, strategizing- tracking is not one of them. And yet, she still notices the little things that look out of place in the building. Fresh mud in the shape of something resembling a footprint is scattered throughout the aisles, some items were void of dust that should normally be on things left untouched for so long, and her ears pick up the faint sound of breathing.

Thankfully, it’s less labored than the dead’s.

Which means she was right in assuming whatever- whoever- is in the building is still very much alive and may know what happened to their friend.

Now if only she could find them.

Hopefully before they found her.

&

Realistically, Clarke should have guessed they would have found each other at the exact same time, weapons pointed in a silent (definitely hostile) exchange. This world, in all its glory, is horribly ironic. And so, irony became the new realistic a long time ago.

And that means she should have expected this.

But she didn’t and now, Clarke is staring at a stranger dressed in black with long, dirty blonde hair that looks as though it hasn’t been washed in forever (she imagines hers looks the same) and if looks could kill, she wholeheartedly believes she’d be dead right now.

Her posture doesn’t waver and her stance doesn’t stray. Her gun is pointed on the stranger with intent, and if she is forced to use it, she knows she won’t hesitate.

“Where’s my friend?”

The stranger’s stoic look doesn’t falter.

Clarke tries again.

“ _Where’s Jasper_?”

“Did you take Miller and Echo too? I bet you did, you-.”

“ _Echo_? How do you know Echo?”

The stranger’s face doesn’t fall, but Clarke’s does. Her senses stay hyper aware of the gun directed toward her and her own weapons are still aimed at the woman in front of her. Two swords, which would seem kind of silly to use when an automatic pistol is pointed at you if Clarke didn’t think the girl was highly skilled in using them. The mention of Echo peaks the stranger’s interest and it’s clear to the blonde that the stranger has some kind of connection to her, and ever the cat, Clarke is curious to find out more.

“How do _you_ know Echo?” She questions. There was no way she was going to let the stranger in before the stranger let her in. They’ve lost too much already.

It seems too easy, the way the stranger lifts up her hands, swords included, before slowly setting them on a nearby shelf.

Clarke half-expects her to surprise attack her.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, the stranger lifts up her hands again and the stoic expression on her face breaks into something that screams bravery, strength, and care.

“If you shoot me, you won’t live long enough to tell the story,” the stranger points out, which makes Clarke assume she had the same idea and also has backups in place somewhere around the building.

Clarke thinks quickly and makes the decision to tuck her gun into her holster. She wasn’t going to get the girl to talk by sheer brutality or threats, but maybe a little trust could go a long way.

Plus, she still has Octavia and Murphy if things get rough.

The stranger gives a curt nod, approving of the black piece of metal being no longer life threatening.

“Echo is my cousin. We were together when everything started going bad. Then a herd surrounded the cottage we were staying in and we were separated. I thought she was gone. But you say she’s alive?”

Clarke is the one to nod now, reminding herself to limit the information she gives out. It seems like the woman has never heard of Jasper let alone took him, but with their group so scattered and broken, there is still too much at risk if she revealed more than she should.

“She is. She’s one of us.”

Dark brown eyes look her up and down, as if trying to observe what it might look like to be ‘one of us’. Is she wondering what Echo looks like now? What part Echo plays in their group?

“My name is Anya. If you can take me to Echo, I might have some information about your friend that could help you.” Realizing what she said sounded suspicious, Anya corrects herself. “I didn’t take them. I have no use. I might know of the group that did, though.”

 

 

 


	8. perfectly able to hold my own hand

Out of every scenario Octavia would have expected when rounding the corner of the store to the back where the deliveries were once made, she never once foresaw running into a hoard of shamblers. She knows that’s her bad, especially when they’re literally in the middle of an apocalypse.

So, she and Murphy were now stuck. Bodies stiff and standing just at the edge of the lot, far enough away from the rotting bodies for them not to notice yet, but still much too close for their comfort.

Heavy breathing floats through the air and hearts pound against their chests.

Nerves trickle cold against her spine and her palms are now sweaty against her sword.

They’ve run into hoards this big, sure, but they were always in a group. One with more than two people in it. Two people that are definitely not prepared to deal with this mess.

“We’re going to have to run, you know that, right?” She hears the whisper come from beside her and almost jumps in surprise. Of course it’s just Murphy, who else would it be? _What_ else would it be? _Keep it the fuck together, Blake_.

“What if Clarke needs us?” She whispers back from the corner of her mouth, as if moving her lips would draw even more attention.

“Screw Clarke. Right now, _we’re_ the ones who need us.”

“We can’t leave her behind, Murphy.”

“We can’t take them either, you know that. Don’t be stupid, little Blake.”

“Okay, so say we run for it. Then what? Draw them away? Circle back?”

“If we have to, as long as you get it through your head that we can’t take on all of those things.”

“And you need to get it through your head that we’re not leaving Clarke behind. We’ll split up. You draw half of them in one direction, I’ll take the other half through the forest. We’ll loop around and meet back here.”

Murphy nods, finally falling silent as he listens to her plan and eyes the shamblers in front of them. The group’s big, but not so big that this plan wouldn’t work.

He’s nervous though- and it’s definitely showing.

“Hey, Murphy,” Octavia whispered, holding out a closed fist. “Ride or die, okay? We can get through this.”

A breath falls from his lips and he nods again. Her words did very little to reassure him, but he got the meaning behind them. They’d do this, because they’re strong and because they can do this. They can make it through. They can survive. Working together, even when they’re apart, will help that.

His fist meets the top of hers in a firm tap. “Catch ya on the flip side,” Murphy mutters before instantly taking off in the direction of the parking lot, shouting nonsense to grab the shamblers’ attention.

Octavia follows suit, slashing through the necks of the ones she can reach before making noise of her own and darting toward the forest.

&

The sound of twigs and leaves crunching messily behind her is a rush and she runs, keeping a steady pace and distance from the front of the hoard. Every once in a while, Octavia turns around and slices a head off, but for the most part, she just keeps running. It takes her back to a place before all of this happened, when it was just her morning jogs and track practice and her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

To a place that was carefree. To a place where her brother was still alive, sitting on the bleachers as she ran in a race they waited hours for. So unlike the place she’s in now.

She enjoys the few moments of peace she gets before something inevitably interrupts it.

Arrows pour from somewhere in the trees, each sticking straight through a shambler’s head with precision. Octavia’s eyes widen and her gaze darts to the tree lines. She sees nothing, but her running ceases. The arrows continue until light footsteps, barely audible to average ears, touch the ground.

A girl drops from the tree. Her dark hair is braided in a way that would make Octavia stare in awe if it didn’t mean she’d lose a limb, or even worse, her life.

“Take down the ones you can reach!” A commanding voice shouts and she realizes it came from the girl who’s now wielding a long sword and chopping through shamblers like it’s literally her day job. In this world, Octavia guesses it is. If Clarke can sink ships and command men, this girl could easily lead anyone to their end. She follows the demand all the same, because what else is she going to do? Keep running?

Her sword sinks through a skull and a splatter of blood splashes across the front of her shirt and onto her neck. It’s not the only mark there is, and it won’t be the last.

This day job is a messy one.

There are a few moments where she almost gets ambushed and the fierce stranger has to save her. There are less, but still some, moments where she has to save the stranger too. Octavia blames it on being distracted, because the arrows keep flying into skulls and she has absolutely no idea where they’re coming from.

It isn’t until the last shambler stops twitching on the ground that she gets a peak at the stranger’s even stranger companion.

A man hops down from the tree branches, all tan and covered in dirt and muscles, carrying a bow with arrows on his back. Oh, and did she mention muscles?

“Who are you?” Octavia finally questions, her eyes flitting back and forth between the pair. If they were going to try something, she wants to be prepared.

To give herself a fighting chance at least.

Maybe she should have kept on running.

The girl with the wildly braided hair looks to the man with the dirt smudged on his cheeks with intense green eyes. She’s saying _no_ with everything she has. The man ignores her and steps forehead, hand outstretched.

“I’m Lincoln, this is Lexa. We were scouting and saw you and your friend get caught up in the hoard from our position. We thought you could use a little help.”

Octavia also figures that if they were scouting around the building, they probably belong to whoever is in the building now and taking out the herd was only for their gain, but the help was sweet nonetheless. Against better judgement, she reaches forward and shakes Lincoln’s hand firmly. “I’m Octavia. And I didn’t need the help, but thanks, I guess.”

Her appreciation leaves much to be desired. Lincoln laughs it off anyway and _god_ , does a laugh sound good right about now.

Octavia tucks her sword away for the time being because _Lexa_ still looks just a little bit threatened (okay, maybe a lot threatened, but she’s beginning to wonder if the girl even has a chill meter). “You were scouting the store, right? Do you know the person in there?”

She directs the question toward Lincoln, because she doubts Lexa is all that ready to speak so freely about their activities.

It’s hard to blame her.

Lincoln nods his head and opens his mouth to answer, but whatever words were about to come out are now drown out by the sound of footsteps and limbs dragging in the near distance.

“We have to get out of here,” Lexa mumbled harshly, observing the space around them. She doesn’t want to go, Octavia can tell, but if another heard is about to hit them, they’re not going to be able to hold them off. “You can come with us. Collateral if something happens to Anya.”

“Lexa-.”

“Clarke’s reasonable. If your friend doesn’t threaten her, she won’t have to hurt anyone.”

“Let’s hope not.” Lexa accepts her answer with a curt nod before she’s tucking her sword back into its sheath and darting away. They follow closely behind.

 

 


	9. enjoy your stay

They follow him with little distance to spare. Too close for his comfort, but he’s pretty sure comfort isn’t a thing when the world ends. It’s just you and anything you have to do to survive. John Murphy hates that running has to be a part of ‘anything you have to do to survive’.

But it is, so he trudges ahead.

He had since quieted down and no longer shouts the obscenities he’d used to lure half of the hoard away from where Octavia had stood. They follow him purely on instinct now, or whatever they had left of those. Murphy figures their sense of smell has to be pretty good because they sure know he’s there still.

His lungs expand and collapse and his heart races against his ribcage. Sweaty hair, chin-length and way too long for days when the sun is at its highest point, clings to the back of his neck uncomfortably.

Moans float through the air; hungry, cold, meaningless. Murphy ignores the way that just a few feet separate life from death.

One slip up and it could all be over. Just like that.

Blue eyes start to search the skyline for something, anything, that can get him away from the rotten shamblers stumbling behind him. A tree, a car, a building- at this point he’d take a fucking flying unicorn with a rainbow coming out of its ass.

Instead, there’s just the edge of the parking lot and a long space of land between him and the next building.

Fuck it.

Murphy inhales deep and takes a step onto the grass, prepared to run for another century when a military grade vehicle roars across the grass and some kind of gun on top of it starts picking off the undead crown behind him one by one. He isn’t an expert on cars, not like Raven is, but _damn_ did that look badass. He almost finds himself wishing that Raven were here to see it for herself. But, he’s just thankful he’s still alive and hunches over, hands on his knees, heaving for a breath once each and every last shambler behind him had been taken down.

It takes him a full minute, and the sight of a man with sandy blonde hair hopping off of the vehicle, for Murphy to realize that something is wrong with this picture.

This town had been overrun long ago, they saw that on their way to the store.

Yet, here were military personnel (or what looked like such) and they were well-groomed; no crusted blood from days past, no sweaty hair sticking to the backs of their necks, no bags under their eyes that show they haven’t been able to sleep with both eyes closed in quite some time.

The man with the sandy brown hair starts barking orders and his men began checking the area and the bodies for any live ones.

“Who the fuck are you?” Murphy questions, hostility laced in his voice, as the man makes a beeline for him. When a hand is stuck out in greeting, Murphy ignores it and eyes him suspiciously. “I asked you a question.”

“Carl Emerson, Mount Weather Security Detail.”

The introduction is formal, curt. It was memorized to a tee. Confusion clouds Murphy’s mind, what the fuck is a mount weather?

&

Octavia stops mid-sprint when she hears a smattering of machine guns after only a few moments of running. Lincoln stops almost immediately in front of her. The sound is coming from beyond the spot they just vacated, from where she left Murphy… Clarke…

“Lincoln!” They hear Lexa shout from up ahead, but he ignores her and turns his question eyes to Octavia.

“What was that?”

She shakes her head, worry and dread building quickly in the pit of her stomach. Nobody uses guns anymore, it’s just how it is. Unless you’re really stuck, you don’t use automatic weapons because of the noise. Swords, machetes, screwdrivers, silent kills are the rage now. Those sounds didn’t come from Murphy- or Clarke. They came from something else. _Someone_ else.

“I don’t know, but I do know my friends are in danger. I’m not leaving them.”

Lincoln looks nervously between her and Lexa, who hasn’t moved from her spot in the distance. His internal battle lasts for a few seconds before the hungry moans fill the air again and he’s lifting her up and over his shoulder, taking off behind Lexa once again.

“ _What are you doing_!?” Octavia shouts, knocking her fist against his back in an attempt to get his attention. “ _Hey_! _Hello_!?”

She hears him huff and slow just a bit, but he doesn’t put her down nor stop his pace. “I’m saving your life.” Lincoln states simply, as if it’s become perfectly normal to pick people up and run them to safety against their will.

“I don’t _need_ my life saved! My friends need _theirs_ saved! Put. Me. Down.” Octavia’s shouts have become quieter, but no less demanding. She needs to get back to the store. Back to Murphy. Back to Clarke. “They’re my people. _Lincoln_.”

He shakes his head as a realization hits him and she feels him ducking into a structure before everything goes dark. “I’m sorry, Octavia.”

&

The darkness consumes him. It takes forever for his eyes to adjust and the pounding in his head doesn’t help the effort much. He groans out an attempt to sit up, ending up slouching against the wall instead as the attempt fails.

Everything aches.

Flashes of sharp words and too many questions only being answered by a needle to the arm appear in his memory.

A movement to his left has his head turning quickly. Mistake. He reaches for his gun only to find an empty holster. Fuck. The movement stops. No groans follow. No bites. No blinding pain. No fever. No bleeding. Just a voice, weak, confused, and tinged with something else he can’t place.

“ _Murphy_?”

Murphy’s eyes squint through the darkness, trying to speed up the adjustment process. He catches a dark glimpse of curly hair, pale skin, and a nose he unfortunately knew too well.

“Holy fuck, _Jasper_ ,” He curses lowly, the urge to reach out and check if the mystery voice is really Jasper is stopped by the shackles on his hands, keeping him chained to a wall just a few feet away.

“Yeah, it’s Jasper. What are you doing here? Where’s Monty? Clarke? Where’s the rest of our people?”

 Murphy stiffens, remembering Clarke in that store, Octavia running from her half of the herd. He has no clue what happened to them. “They’re fine…,” He reassures the boy, hesitantly, and moves on. “More important question- where the fuck is ‘here’?”

“Welcome to Mount Weather, Murphy. I think… I think they’re going to kill us.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> come discuss this fic, ships, and zombie au headcanons with me at wildgrapevine on tumblr!


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